


Frustrated

by orphan_account



Series: gift fics [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beverly Crusher/Jack Crusher/Jean-Luc Picard background, First Time, M/M, Star Trek: AOS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 16:18:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8630773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Fuck, you’re really hot,” Wesley breathes before his higher brain function can kick in and tell him to keep his damn mouth shut.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ships_to_sail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ships_to_sail/gifts).



> For my darling C on this, the anniversary of her birth.  
> Happy birthday, lovely. Here, have some porn.

It’s less than a month into his first term and Wesley Crusher has never been so miserable in his goddamn life.

Okay, that’s an exaggeration. There was the time when his dad was injured on an away mission. Captain Picard, metaphorical hat in hand, said Claire M’Benga was doing everything she could, but they weren’t sure Dad was going to make it. The recovery had been a rough six months, the Crushers unhappily relocated to Starbase 7, famous for its medical facilities. Wesley was too young to understand everything that was going on, but Dad had been snappish and Mom cried a lot. Picard sent long, apologetic, and incredibly awkward comms. They’d all been miserable.

Then there was the time when he was nine and he’d spotted Dad kissing Picard in a turbolift just as Wesley came around a corner and the doors were closing. He spent several agonizing weeks trying to figure out how to break it to Mom. It was both a relief and totally embarrassing when his parents and Picard sat him down for the stilted ‘we’re all really hopelessly in love and it doesn’t mean anything will change for you except we’re moving to bigger quarters and you’ll have one more person who loves you as a parent’ conversation.

Anyway. Wesley has been miserable before. He can deal with that. He’s probably never been this frustrated before. The difference between his expectations and the reality of Academy life has been an unpleasant surprise.

Wesley knows San Francisco the way most ‘fleet brats know it: through a combination of rare visits to Command and his parents’ censored tales of their Academy glory days. This varied knowledge is good for a broad picture, but day to day it rarely helps him manage life in the city. San Francisco is nice enough, he supposes, if you can’t live somewhere capable of warp 9.8. Windows that open are a perpetual surprise, and it’s weird living somewhere without an all-knowing computer you can ask for answers at all times. He has trouble sleeping. The noise drifting into his poorly insulated dorm room is a jarring contrast to the hustle and bustle of crew passing through the family friendly corridor, or the constant mechanical hum of an active starship.

Wesley doubts he’ll ever get used to the veritable warren of subways, the exhausting rise and fall of the rolling hills, the bewildering and near-constant assault to visibility from fog rolling off the bay. Day to day he has little reason to venture off campus, but the peculiar politics and customs that make up life at Starfleet Academy are hardly easier to navigate than San Francisco itself. He hasn’t made many friends, more due to his lack of free time and heavy course load than any failing on his part, but it's lonely all the same.

Wesley reminds himself he’s one of very few cadets who already know their way around a _Galaxy_ -class starship whenever the oddities of living dirtside trip him up. Like now, while he’s barely biting back curses as he finally remembers the doorlock code to his dorm room.

“I was starting to wonder if someone was trying to break in.” Wesley’s roommate -- Aloysius Reginald ‘seriously, just call me Reg’ Gordon Spencer XXVII, whose family maintains a centuries long tradition of youngest sons serving in whatever that time’s equivalent of a naval force happens to be, despite owning half of London -- is sprawled on his bed with a padd in one hand and a flask in the other.

“You could’ve gotten up, then, Reg.” Wesley drops his bag at the foot of his bed and flops facedown into the mussed blankets.

“That would’ve required moving from my incredibly comfortable perch, young Mr. Crusher,” Reg replies, accent unbearably posh even to Wesley’s untrained ears. He takes a swig from his flask and then reaches across the gap between their beds, offering it to Wesley.

Wesley turns his head, staring blankly at the flask for a moment before sitting up and taking it in his hands. A small sip burns all the way down and he promptly starts coughing. Reg snatches the flask back before Wesley spills any of it.

“What the hell is that?” Wesley asks once he finally stops coughing, face red and shoulders hunched. “It tastes like the stuff the engineering staff keep in their not-so-hidden still ‘for cleaning the warp core.’”

Reg snorts. “Similar provenance.” He takes another swig without noticeable discomfort and Wesley is grudgingly impressed. “Now, what’s got you in such a state, then?”

“I’m not in a state,” Wesley protests, not particularly convincingly if Reg’s expression is any indication. “So maybe I’m not settling in quite as fast as I’d like. It’s not the end of the world.”

“It takes some of you space rats a while to get your land legs, I’ve noticed,” Reg offers, screwing the cap onto his flask and tossing it behind him. “Right. I know just the thing. You are due for a bit of cheering up.” He stands and strides over to their shared closet, digging around for a moment before chucking clothes at Wesley. “We’re going out.”

“Ah, Reg, seriously, you don’t have to. I’m sure you’d rather hang out with your friends and I’ve got plenty of studying to do and -- ”

“And nothing.” Reg starts changing and when Wesley looks down at the clothes in his hands he realizes Reg threw him some of his own, expensive clubwear. “It’s the weekend and I know you’re ahead on all of your coursework. And you are my friend, stop being ridiculous. We are going out and we are going to have fun. Earth’s not so bad, really. We’ll have a few drinks, dance with some pretty beings of your prefered species and genders, and maybe get you laid. It’ll be good for you.”

That honestly sounds pretty good to Wesley, so he swallows down the rational argument that’s lingering on his tongue and starts changing into too-snug clothes before he talks himself out of a good time.

 

\--

 

The club is far enough away from campus that they haven’t seen anyone they know. It’s a bit of a relief, considering how he feels in this ridiculous outfit. The club is also a lot classier than Wesley was expecting, which makes him feel a bit bad for judging Reg’s taste. Of course, Reg is currently leaning back on one of the hyper-polished bars while several obscenely attractive people take body shots off of his abs, so Wesley doesn’t feel _too_ bad for expecting Reg to take him somewhere trashy.

The music has a sinuous, thumping beat and the DJ is managing that perfect balance of loud and energetic enough to dance to without drowning out the possibility of conversation. Warm lights make everyone look a bit golden and unnaturally pretty, or maybe they really are this hot. Maybe Wesley is sticking out as the unattractive nerd lurking at one end of the bar and --

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Wesley nearly falls off of his stool before big, calloused fingers wrap around his biceps and steady him. He turns his head and sees that the hands belong to a really unfairly good looking human. The guy’s maybe a few years older than Wesley, with amused blue eyes and a wide smile framed by a precisely trimmed dark beard.

“God, sorry, I’m such a klutz,” Wesley apologizes, cheeks flushing.

“Not too much to drink, already?” the man asks, head tilting and hands still lingering on Wesley’s arms.

“No, this was my first drink.” Wesley nods at his mostly empty glass.

“Will.” The man, Will, apparently, finally loosens his grip. Will’s fingers skim down the sensitive flesh of Wesley’s arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Wesley.”

“Well, Wesley,” Will leans against the bar and waves a hand to catch the bartender’s attention, “how about I buy your second drink?”

“I, um.” Wesley takes a glance down the bar to Reg, who’s peering at Wesley over the shoulder of a broad shouldered blond. Reg gives Will an obvious once over and then shoots Wesley a wide grin and a thumbs up. “Sure. Yeah. Yes. I mean. That’d be really nice.”

Will’s smile takes on a predatory slant that makes Wesley’s cheeks burn and oh, he is in the absolute best kind of trouble.

 

\--

 

Wesley is woken up by the sun peeking through the curtains, which is weird both because his dorm room has blinds and it’s facing west. It takes him a few seconds longer to wake up and realize he’s not actually _in_ his dorm room and oh, right, he went out with Reg last night and --

Wesley’s alone in the unfamiliar bed, but a peek under the blankets confirms he’s naked and has what is really unmistakably beard burn on his thighs. It’s not like there’s any question of what he was up to last night.

“Good morning.” Will’s low voice comes from the doorway. He’s dressed in a plain sweatshirt and jeans and holding an overflowing tray of food. “Sorry you woke alone. I went to grab us some breakfast.”

“Oh, that’s.” Wesley really hopes some day he’ll grow out of the habit of blushing at the slightest provocation, but Will’s eyes darken as they take in his flushed cheeks, so for now Wesley figures it’s probably okay. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course not, but I wanted to.”

Will’s long legs take him across the length of the bedroom in a few strides and he sets the tray on the nightstand. He leans down and is apparently completely unconcerned about Wesley’s morning breath. The kiss is nothing like the eager, almost violent clashes of mouths from last night. It starts soft, almost sweet, with just a hint of tongue and only the barest brush of beard against Wesley’s over sensitive skin. Wesley lets out a shuddery little moan and that seems to be the signal ending Will’s restraint.

When Will pulls back a few minutes later with a smug smile, Wesley is panting and more than half hard. His hands have apparently taken on a life of their own, because they’re buried in the thick hair at the back of Will’s head.

“Maybe breakfast could wait for a bit?” Wesley asks.

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Will replies, stripping out of his sweatshirt and jeans with admirable speed.

Naked in the light of day, Wesley revises his estimate of Will’s age. Will is broad and muscled in a way only time and hard work can achieve, with dark hard on his chest and leading down his lean stomach to his fast thickening cock. He’s probably in his thirties, which helps explain the impressive stamina he showcased while putting Wesley through his paces last night.

“Fuck, you’re really hot,” Wesley breathes before his higher brain function can kick in and tell him to keep his damn mouth shut.

Luckily enough Will seems to find this amusing, blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he climbs onto the bed and yanks the blankets down to reveal Wesley’s naked form. “You’re not so bad yourself,” Will smirks, trailing one hand down Wesley’s chest to linger a hairsbreadth over his cock.

“Sweet talker,” Wesley manages, stomach muscles twitching beneath Will’s fingers.

“Not usually,” Will says, one brow raised. His hand smoothes back up Wesley’s chest, eyes never moving from Wesley’s. “But I can give it a try if that’s something you like.”

Wesley’s breath is racing like he just finished the Academy obstacle course. He knows from experience that his face is flushed scarlet, and he’s likely splotchy pink from neck to navel. It’s not a look he’s ever found particularly attractive, but Will’s pupils are so wide the blue of his irises are barely a ring around them, so he must like what he sees.

“I wouldn’t mind it,” Wesley admits. He doesn’t have a ton of experience in bed, a handful of one timers with beings his own age, mostly human, usually equal in their lack of experience. He doesn’t really know what he likes, yet, other than whatever makes him feel good at that moment. “You have a nice voice.”

“Shit.” Will hisses, ducking down to press a swift kiss to Wesley’s panting mouth. “Hands up. Hold onto the headboard until I tell you to let go, okay? I won’t be able to concentrate with those distracting fingers of yours on me, and I’m not quite as young as you if you catch my drift.”

Wesley obediently removes his hands from Will’s shoulders and wraps his fingers around the slats of the headboard.

“That’s good, that’s perfect,” Will murmurs, leaning back so his eyes can sweep over Wesley. “The things I’d love to do to you.”

“You can do them,” Wesley says, fingers flexing as he tightens his grip to keep from letting go of the headboard.

“Yeah? You gonna ask me nicely, Wesley?”

One of Will’s big hands slides up Wesley’s chest, his neck, grips him by the jaw, fingers just this side of bruising tight. Wesley has a sudden flash of want, of wanting Will to mark him, to leave finger shaped bruises on his hips, his wrists. Regrettably not his neck, because that’d show above his uniform collar, but everywhere else. He wants to walk around with the evidence of Will’s hands beneath his clothes for days. Not to hurt, but to claim. It’s a foolish desire for a guy he’s probably never gonna see again after this morning, so Wesley ruthlessly represses the mental image.

“Please, oh please, Will.” And fuck, Will likes that. Wesley isn’t sure which he likes more, the begging or hearing his name in that desperate gasp.

“Don’t you worry, Wesley. I’m going to take very good care of you.”

Wesley can’t suppress a full body shiver at the promise in Will’s tone, in the naked hunger on his face, in the way his calloused fingers trace down Wesley’s neck and chest and holy shit --

“That’s it, I’ve got you.” And Will’s voice is a low rumble that Wesley can feel all the way down to his toes. “You just relax.”

Wesley makes a high, disbelieving sound at the back of his throat. He jerks up, babbling, “Relax? Will, please, I can’t, just, come on, I -- ”

“Shh.” Will kisses him quiet, thumb stroking a tight circle over the head of Wesley’s dick. “You’re just fine, Wesley,” he adds, gently, licking his lips as a full-body shudder sends Wesley flat on his back again. “That’s right, I’ll take care of you.”

And the casual confidence in that just _does something_ to Wesley, who’s fast becoming a limp pile of quivering limbs on the bed. If he just listens and lets go everything’s going to be perfect, and then he makes a truly embarrassing noise because Will slid down the bed and he’s putting his mouth on Wesley’s dick and yep, yes, yeah, holy shit, everything is _perfect_.

“Please, please, _Will_.” The pleas spill from Wesley’s mouth without his say-so and his hands are white knuckled around the slats of the headboard and he’s arching up, up into Will’s firm grip on his hips. Nothing has ever felt this good, nothing.

Wesley’s not some blushing virgin, but he’s somehow managed to skip over blowjobs in his developing repertoire, so this is a revelation. A slick, wet tongue on his skin is nothing like a tight, lubed fist, or even like fucking into someone. And none of his experiences or fantasies can compare to watching Will. Will, eager and warm between Wesley’s thighs, his stupidly broad shoulders pushing Wesley’s legs wider, his perfect hands pressing Wesley’s hips firmly against the mattress. He’s murmuring sweet, soothing nothings, ‘so perfect, so gorgeous, I’ve got you,’ against Wesley’s skin as he licks and teases the head of Wesley’s cock and it’s just. Unbelievable.

Will’s hands shift so one hand is spread across Wesley’s lower stomach, a reassuring pressure holding him in place. The other hand slips lower between Wesley’s legs, finding hot spots Wesley didn’t even know he had. Wesley jerks desperately against Will’s hand, against the bedframe, against the fullbore press of gravity on this damn planet. Will presses his thumb up and a little way inside, where Wesley’s still just a bit loose and slick from several vigorous rounds of fucking last night. The same moment Will presses his thumb inside, his mouth slides all the way down to the base of Wesley’s cock and that’s it.

Wesley’s whole body is singing and there’s a dull sort of roar in his ears as his comes. His hands spasm against the headboard, and he’s desperately trying not to buck his hips as Will swallows down his release.

“Holy shit,” Wesley breathes, a full minute later, when he finally stops trembling. Will’s stretched out beside him, and he lets out a soft huff of a laugh when Wesley meets his eyes.

“You can let go of the headboard now, Wesley.”

“Not sure that I can, actually,” Wesley replies, voice shaky.

Will’s expression goes unbearably soft. He rolls over on his side, deft hands reaching up. Will gently pries Wesley’s fingers from the slats, brushing a kiss to each palm before laying them flat on the bed.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” Will orders, voice as gentle as the kiss he presses to Wesley’s cheek.

Wesley closes his eyes and maybe drifts off for a bit, because the next time he opens them Will is finishing wiping the come and sweat from his stomach with a damp cloth.

“Back with us?” Will asks, tossing the cloth in the direction of the recycler.

“Sorry, that was just really -- ”

Wesley’s apology is cut off with a kiss, light and teasing.

“No apologies for enjoying yourself.” Will grins. “Assuming you enjoyed yourself. I wouldn’t want to be too presumptuous.”

“Did I enjoy? Of course I.” Wesley gapes. “Will, that was _amazing,_ I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard in my life. I think I may have actually lost consciousness for a minute, there.”

“Well, it’s always nice to top one’s previous efforts.” Will laughs, crawling up the bed to lean back against the pillows.

“Oh, shit, but I didn’t even do anything for you. Here, let me -- ” And Will cuts him off with another kiss. Wesley’s always hated being told to shut up, so he supposes this is a pleasant alternative.

“Already taken care of,” Will says, pulling back with a smile.

“You mean, while you were.” His eyes flick down and Will’s dick is still a intimidatingly big against his thigh, but it’s no longer hard. “You. Um.” And Wesley thought he was finally done blushing.

Will’s smile turns sharp. “You made a very compelling picture.” He reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a couple of pastries off the tray, passing one to Wesley. “Not hot anymore, but they’re from the bakery down the street. Should still be good.”

“Thank you.” Wesley takes a bite and doesn’t bother to hold back a moan. “This is amazing.”

Will’s watching Wesley eat like he’s more interested in eating _him_ than the pastry, but Wesley’s starving so he keeps eating as Will’s hungry eyes linger.

They eat in companionable silence for a few minutes, and Wesley is contentedly licking his fingers when Will clears his throat. Wesley turns to him, eyes wide, his icing-slicked thumb in his mouth.

“Well, Wes,” Will chuckles, a low rumble that sends a pleasant shiver down Wesley’s spine. “I hope you won’t think this terribly presumptuous, but I’ve had a marvelous time. I was wondering if you’d give me your private comm and maybe let me take you out on a proper date sometime? Maybe tomorrow night, if you’re free?”

“Oh. You really. I.” He’s sure he has an idiotic smile on his face and he really couldn’t care less. “Yeah. Yes, that would be. That would be great.”

And it is.


End file.
